n was.

"He is a swine-herd."

"Indeed!" said Lady Mabel. "I took him for a bandit, or a bold hunter,
at least."

"But he is the swine-herd of the great monastery of the Paulists, who
own half the lands on the southern slope of Serra d'Ossa. He is a
matchless hunter too, spending fewer nights under a roof than on the
mountain-side, where all the game is as much his, as the swine he
keeps is the property of the good fathers. They have the best bacon in
all Portugal, and plenty of it, as many a poor man can tell; and they
know this man's value, for he were a bold thief that pinched the ear
of his smallest pig."

"As soon as I get back to Elvas," said Lady Mabel, "I will send Major
Warren to make his acquaintance. The major will be charmed with
him. For his ambition is to take all sorts of game, in every possible
way; and though I have, or might have had, the history of all his
hunts by heart, neither lynx or otter has yet figured in the scene.
You remember, Colonel L'Isle, how much satisfaction he expressed when
you lately hinted at the probability of our brigade finding itself in
the north of Portugal early in the coming campaign. I at first thought
that the soldier saw some military advantage in the movement, but
found it was only the sportsman's delight at the hope of visiting
Truzos Montes, and killing one of the few Caucasian goats that yet
linger on the most inaccessible heights there."

"No gamester," said L'Isle, "is more a slave to the dice. That at this
time a soldier should be so little 'lost in the world's debate' as to
be eager, above all things, to kill a goat!"

They had now reached a point which gave them a fine view of the
southern side of Serra d'Ossa, so different from the northern, being
fertile, and showing many a cultivated spot upon its lower slopes,
while the light, fleecy clouds, gathering before the gentle western
wind, now veiled and then revealed the overhanging dark blue ridge
that crowned the scene. The guide pointed out the broad possessions of
the great monastery of the Paulists. At a distance, on the right, rose
Evora Monte, built like a watch-tower on a lofty hill; and, to the
south, the monastic towers and Gothic spires of Evora, the city of
monks, raised high above the plain, could be seen from afar.

"Why," asked Mrs. Shortridge, "do these people always build their
towns on hills?"

"That is a true English question," answered L'Isle. "At home, in our
bleak northern climate,